


Hapax Legomenon

by tinknevertalks



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Everyone is mortal, F/M, Multi, No one is an abnormal, Possessive!John (and not in a good way), University Challenge AU, gratuitous use of nicknames, set in England
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2019-08-11 02:22:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16466870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinknevertalks/pseuds/tinknevertalks
Summary: The Five are representing Magdalen College, Oxford, on University Challenge. In the last few rounds, tensions rise, people break up, and an awful amount of quizzing is to be done before they can (hopefully) lift the trophy.





	1. Before

**Author's Note:**

> Day Six, and it's the day I don't like so much, mostly because I'm not very imaginative when it comes to other universes. I can do it sometimes, but other times it's like bashing my head against the wall. Anyhoodle, the first two chapters were posted on Tumblr ages ago, but chapter three is my addition to Teslen Week. If you like Nikola washing Helen's hair, calling her hot, or watching Nigel laugh as our two faves squirm, you're going to like chapter three.
> 
> This is a work in progress, and progress (I will admit) has slowed to a crawl. Maybe if I post a lot of what I have I'll get inspired again? *Shrugs* I dunno. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy. Any mistakes, lemme know. :)

“Now, let’s meet the team from Magdalen College.” Jeremy Paxman smiled genially at the camera before it cut to the team.

“Hello, I’m James Watson, from Bath, reading Chemistry.” James’ voice was light, happy to be there. The contrast between him and the next man was stark; dark, broody and almost sulky, he introduced himself, “John Druitt, from London, reading Medicine.”

“And their captain…”

“Hello, I’m Helen Magnus, originally from Devon and I’m also reading Medicine.” Her smile was warm as she turned her head to the left, to their last teammate.

“Hi, I’m Nikola Tesla, from New York, studying Physics.” He smiled back at Helen. She leant over and said, “First hurdle done,” as the audience cheered.

Their first round had been a breeze, as were the next two rounds (Nigel and Helen tried explaining the system to the others, but they weren’t all that bothered). Their quarterfinal match was against the London School of Economics -

_“Four babies suckling at the teat of daddy’s bank account,” Nigel told them over their third (fourth?) round at the pub. “They’ll be good on maths and some pop stuff–”_

_“And economics,” Nikola added, grimacing. He really hated bitter but when Nigel Griffin thuds five pints on the table and Helen Magnus grabs one, you join in._

_Nigel smirked. “Thanks, Nik, point out the bleeding obvious.”_

_Nikola rolled his eyes, before avoiding the scene directly across from him. John sat next to Helen, arm resting on the back of her chair. Every now and then he’d play with a loose, blonde tendril of hair, curling it around a finger. Helen would look uncomfortable but said nothing._

_Nikola hated it. She was the first to introduce herself when they found out they were in a team together. He hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off her, the crimson dress she wore hidden by her fitted leather jacket, her blonde hair shining. Beautiful had been his first thought, as he tried to make himself breathe again. Then John lumbered in. That confident wrapping of his arm around her waist as if she was his and his alone. No matter that she was a human being…_

_“Shame we don’t go to a specialist university,” James remarked dryly, dragging Nikola from his reminiscing and making everyone laugh. James and Nigel did that. They would watch any given situation and diffuse the tension as it arose – James with a joke, Nigel with a well-placed expletive and his thoughts on the barmaid. The expletive was usually repeated in some way._

_“Really though, we should bone up on a few subjects,” Helen announced as she placed her round down, twenty minutes later. It wasn’t the same five pints (Nikola’s stomach sighed in relief) – a pint each for John and Nigel, a fizzy something for her (from the smell of it, Archers and lemonade), a bottle of cider for James and a large glass of red wine for Nikola._

_“Hey, how come he gets wine?” Nigel groused jokingly._

_“Because that’s what he was drinking before you forced pints of bitter down our necks, Nige,” Helen replied, sipping her drink. Nikola sipped his. It was a godsend after that pint - never one to back down, or refuse a pint from Nigel ‘That Better Be Bitter In My Glass’ Griffin, he’d drunk it as quickly as possible, trying not to notice John’s fingers in Helen’s hair, or the smirk when he caught Nikola looking. Helen kept pulling her head away. “History should really be in the list,” she added as if her bickering with Nigel hadn’t happened._

_“Some of us could do with revising politics, both foreign and domestic,” James added, before blowing a light note into his bottle. They all groaned._

_“Maybe our resident sommelier could offer a few suggestions?” John remarked, putting down his pint and kissing Helen’s forehead tenderly._

_“Oh, me?” Nikola, a churning mass of envy on the inside, feigned boredom. “Far be it for the lowly Serbian-American to be interested in anything other than science fiction or comic books, but having more than a passing knowledge of beverages will always have you in good stead. Not my fault I have a refined palate.” He shrugged, then held Helen’s eye. “I enjoy the finer things in life.”_

_She smiled back, her eyes drunk so she was slightly squinty and her nose all crinkly (and cute, in Nikola’s opinion)._

_Ignoring the thunder on John’s face, Nikola looked at the others, sipping his wine. “We haven’t had any opera in the music round. I know a handful, how about you?”_

They trounced LSE. 280 to 110. James and his wonderful memory had carried them through more than half of their correct starters for ten, and as a team they’d meandered happily through their bonus questions. John (somehow) recognised One Direction in their music round. Nikola even managed to play nice with John (much to Helen’s relief – the two got so snippy she was worried World War Three would break out between them).

Their semifinal match would be against Lampeter TSD. They found out later the final would be against Gonville and Caius College, Cambridge. However, by that time their group of five would become a foursome.


	2. The Reason They Split

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick look in on Helen and John, and the event leading to their separation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, this is when we get our Explicit rating, and where the Helen/John ship tag finishes. A warning (because I wasn't 100% sure how to tag it): John gets grabby and manhandles Helen. It might not be as bad as I'm worried about, but I don't want someone to stop enjoying because they had a panic attack (fanfic should be an escape, not something triggering). So hopefully it isn't really bad.
> 
> Apart from that, I hope you enjoy. (If you wanna miss this chapter because Helen/John super squicks you, I'll leave a short summary on the next chapter of what you missed... Although, Helen kinda covers it... But yeah. XD)

They’d all been walking together, not close or anything, but something about their closeness and their easy bantering ( _flirting_ ) annoyed John. What she saw in any of them, he had no idea. Since this blasted challenge started they’d been with the other three every spare minute. James was bearable, as was Nigel (in small doses).

It was Nikola that aggravated him. All easy charms and wide smiles. There was a quality to his features that got under John’s skin, made him _worry_.

“Darling, what’s the matter?” Helen asked that evening over dinner. It shouldn’t be odd, but they were alone in his room for the first time in months, in a decent hotel to boot, their second second-round match finished with earlier that day.

He smiled airily, “I’ve missed spending time with you.”

Helen smiled as she furrowed her brow, saying, “But you have been spending time–”

“With you and The Others,” he intoned darkly. Brightening, he added, “I meant just us.”

Her smile diminished, her tone apologetic, “I’m sorry darling, I get a bit–“

“Caught up?” he interrupted, quirking an eyebrow.

She flinched minutely, before shrugging. “Yes, I suppose.” The smile came back, fully bloomed. “But it’s so much fun!”

“If you can call it that,” he muttered, finishing his drink.

“What do you mean?” she asked, watching him as he watched the foam meander down to the bottom of his glass.

Finally, he said, “This isn’t fun for me. I don’t get to see you, I have to share you–”

“Share me?” she echoed indignantly, pushing away from the table, but he carried on.

“—We’ve not been intimate in weeks, I have needs Helen, and–“

“You’ve not had sex in a while so you’re getting sulky? Bloody hell John, the show’s almost over; it’s not the rest of your life!” she hissed, leaning over their empty plates.

“Don’t take that tone with me,” he told her, mirroring her position, but she was in full swing.

“How dare you say you have to share me? I am not a plaything!” Straightening up, she started pacing behind her seat as she ranted. “We can do other things than just stay in your room and shag, or is that all you want? A body to warm your bed?” She shook her head, fire blazing in her eyes. “No, not a chance in hell. I am not just a vessel for you, John Druitt. I’m my own human being!” Walking away from the table, she suddenly turned back to him. “You’re not the only one with needs! We haven’t had sex in weeks and it’s all my fault? How dare you!” She stepped closer with every word, until they shared the same hot, heavy air, panted out with each frustrated syllable.

“Then do something about it!” he whispered roughly, standing toe to toe against her.

Her lips crashed against his, teeth clashing as her fingers scrambled for his shirt. Trying valiantly to undo the buttons, each plastic disk became a hindrance. Growling, she dragged his shirt out of his trousers, trying to get it over his head.

Laughing darkly, he finished the action, throwing the material away as he thoroughly kissed her, his tongue plundering her mouth, wanting his whole being to overtake her senses. Pushing her backward, he pinned her against the bed that dominated the room, luxuriating in her heaving breasts against his chest as she moaned into his mouth. Breathless gasps spurred on his hands, his fingers grasping roughly for her knickers – thank God for the skirt she wore – as hers went to his fly.

He hissed as she rolled the condom down, her movements sure and confident, making him even harder in her palm. Their shared groan filled the room as his cock entered her, his movements fast and possessive as her legs wrapped around him. With every thrust he ground against her clit, groaning in concert to her delicious mewls of pleasure, one hand grasping at her bra covered breast. “You planned this,” he accused, growling against her lips, “flimsiest bra you own.” Each word was punctuated with a twist to her nipple, his hips moving resolutely against her.

She laughed, her fingers scratching hard down his back as she tightened the grip of her legs. “Not the only one – oh God, there – gagging for a shag.”

Their kisses (clashing teeth, nipped lips), her nails, his skin became their focal point, his tempo increasing as her scratches got harder, her hands finding his arse. “John—please—“ Her begging, pleading tone shot straight from his ears to his bollocks.

“Can’t…” he ground out as his orgasm tore through him, a few more feeble thrusts before he collapsed against her shoulder. Kissing her forehead, he ignored the glares she sent his way. “Petulance does not become you, Helen,” he remarked, kissing her neck.

“I need…” she panted, her inner muscles clenching desperately around his cock.

Shaking his head, he slid out of her. “My legs are like jelly,” he said, lying next to her, sweat glistening on his skin. A wave of satisfied tiredness swept through him, and he could feel the smile settle on his features as he took off the condom.

Helen’s gaze stayed resolutely on the ceiling. She breathed heavily. “I can’t do this anymore,” she whispered a few minutes later, pulling down her v-neck t-shirt over her bra.

John’s brow furrowed as he panted. “What can’t you do?”

“This!” she replied, sitting up. “This nonsense of you… and me not…” He watched from his prone position as her eyes darted around the room for the words before resting on his face again, her tone earnest. “I never come and you always do, and everything finishes when you finish.” She shook her head. “That isn’t a partnership, John, that’s using me as a glorified fleshlight.” His mind raced. _Glorified fleshlight?_ He opened his mouth to retort, but she hadn’t finished. Sat on the edge of the bed, not looking at him, her words were quiet but firm, “You always interrupt me, you tangle my hair, you get so worked up when I talk to… well, just about anyone…” She shook her head, her blonde hair moving in time. “We deserve better than that.” John frowned as he looked down the bed at her, her words echoing in his head as she looked back over her shoulder at him, grimacing. “I deserve better.”

“Better?” John choked. “ _Deserve_?” He watched as she moved decisively around his room, looking for the knickers he’d thrown to one side.

“Yes, John. Deserve.” The fire was back in her voice, igniting something in the pit of his belly. Snatching at the floor, she carried on her diatribe as he sat up, grimacing but inquisitive (she had shoved her knickers in her bag, which was unlike her to his mind). “This is the twenty-first century. I’m not some shrinking violet waiting for her man to return home. I’m flesh and blood and a whole bundle of nerves that never gets a bloody orgasm. It’s horrible h—Get off me!” He’d had enough. In a blink, he was off the bed, her upper arms in his desperate hands, vice-like in their grip to keep her there.

“You’re making a mistake,” he growled, looking down into her eyes.

Anger flashed dangerously through her features. “I’m not. This ends, now.” She gasped, his grip tightening.

“No!” he raged. She had to stay. Without conscious thought he started shaking her, just a touch, to make her understand.

“Let go of me!” Fighting against his grip, she kicked and struggled against him. “I am not your possession.”

“You are,” he snarled, gripping her chin and kissing her roughly.

It was enough. The mistake, he realised, had been letting go of her arm to kiss her, to make her stay. With all her might she punched his stomach. Doubling over, he released her. Looming over him, she screeched, banshee like in tone and appearance, “I am not a sex doll, John. Don’t call me, don’t text me, don’t contact me at all. Just leave me alone.”

Bag in hand, coat on shoulders, she left, the door slamming in her wake. Alone, John stared at the door. She’d be back.

She always came back.


	3. Why She Coloured Her Hair (and He Helped)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After her messy break up, Helen does what every sensible woman in her position does - gets smashed and colours her hair. Just so happens Nigel and Nikola are around to make sure she doesn't drink the dye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Here we are! The reason I started writing this blinking fic. Helen and Nikola. (Nigel's kicking about too, because he's awesome and I love him.) For Teslen Appreciation Week's AU prompt, have this. Enjoy the odd fluff. XD
> 
> (Did you miss the second chapter? John and Helen get it on. John has an orgasm, Helen doesn't. That's the straw that breaks the camel's back as it were. They have a bit of a barney, and he grabs (and shakes) her. She punches him to escape. Violence isn't always the way forward, but if someone is shaking you, I kinda think it is... Anyways, it finishes with John expecting her to come back.)

Across the road from the hotel stood a brightly lit supermarket, boasting a magnificent 24 hour a day opening policy. Helen didn’t care, it was only eight in the evening. The low chatter of shoppers ( _Why are they out so late with children?_ ) gave her a thumping headache along with the unsatisfied throb between her legs. Keyed up from breaking off things from John ( _bloody John_ ), she needed something, anything, to distract her. The shower and subsequent outfit change did nothing for her, and she’d been too angry in her room to get herself off.

Dashing to the shop seemed to be the answer, although standing here now, Helen suddenly realised she knew nothing about dyeing her hair. The boxes on the shelves in front of her all looked foreign. She knew she didn’t want to be blonde ( _my Goldilocks_ echoed darkly around her head), but brown or red? Permanent or wash out? Ammonia free? “Oh dear...”

\--

Nikola and Nigel realised that getting drinks from the shop across the road would be cheaper than the drinks in the hotel, so wallets in hand, they descended on the unsuspecting building. Nigel went looking for the alcohol like a bloodhound. Nikola, however, meandered in his usual manner to the baked goods aisle – he fancied some cookies. He didn’t get there.

Helen chewing on her lip, lost in thought, stopped him in his tracks. Her hair looked wilder than usual, waves barely contained in the elastic at her nape, a slight pink tinge to her cheeks. Nikola hadn’t seen anything or anyone so beautiful as in that moment.

“You’d look hot as a brunette if you ask me,” he told her, walking to her elbow.

Her eyebrow quirked up, her chin jutting out. “Good thing I’m not asking you then,” she ground through her teeth.

Nikola took half a step back. He’d seen her temper before (she’d driven them up from Oxford), but never directed at him. “Wow, grouch much?”

Sighing, Helen stopped her deliberations to look at him. He knew he looked worried, and the ire that surrounded her melted away. Shoulders slumped, she admitted, “I broke up with John, and don’t crow but I want a change.”

Nikola swallowed. “Ok,” he nodded, eyes wide. Trying to calm his heartbeat ( _They broke up!_ ) he stretched his arm and plucked up a bright blue box. “Well, red would suit you, but brunettes are way cooler.”

Narrowing her eyes suspiciously, she took the box. The brown hair pictured on the lid looked so dark. “It’s perfect,” she breathed.

“I’m an excellent judge of dye shades,” he admitted roguishly, waving his hand around airily. “You best get two boxes,” he added, glancing at her ponytail.

Helen leant back to look at him, the confusion evident in her furrowed brows, before nodding again. He gave her a small smile as she let her anxiety out with a single breath, watching as the boxes dropped into her basket. She smiled hesitantly back, her eyes glittering under the fluorescent lights, mesmerising him. “Thank you, Nikola. I have no idea what I’m doing.” Shrugging, a smile on her lips, she turned.

“I can help.” The words were out before he realised he’d spoken, and he had only a passing idea as to why he said it ( _she broke it off she broke it off she broke--_ ). The sentence did the trick though. Stopping, she turned her head back, and he could feel her analysing him, his words, his demeanour. “I can help,” he repeated, his smile now slightly unsure. “Older sisters,” he explained, ignoring the heat of a blush on his cheeks.

A pause. “Ok.”

“Ok?”

Turning, her grin lit her face. “Ok, you can help me.” Canting her head to one side, she popped her hip, saying, in a maddeningly soft tone, “I might even let you drink my wi—“

“Oi, muggins, whatcha--? Oh! Hi Helen. Thought you were with John tonight.” Nigel, with the grace of a stampeding elephant and enough beer in his basket to drown a pub, appeared, ruining whatever moment Nikola suspected they were having. 

He almost hated him at that moment, but instead shook his head, linking his arm with Helen’s (which remained limp) and said, “We’re not talking about him tonight. Tonight, we change the world!”

Nigel shrugged and nodded his head. “Fine by me.”

“I don’t want to intrude on your plans…” Helen tried stepping backward, shaking her head, but Nikola touched her hand, wanting to stay close to her without the looming presence of John ( _she broke it off she broke it--_ ). 

“Nigel, what were our plans again?”

Nigel looked at the two of them as if horns had grown out of their foreheads. “Our usual – drink and watch quiz shows.” The, ‘Duh,’ was silent, but they all heard it.

“We can add hair dyeing to the mix, no personal questions asked,” he added gently, not sparing Nigel a glance. “It’ll be fun, Helen, come on.” He looped her arm around his elbow. “And look, we have one bottle of wine here… One, Nigel?”

He made a face. “Pick your own bloody booze, you plonker.”

Helen laughed as Nikola glared at Nigel, a sound he hoped to hear a lot of, for as long as he could ( _she broke--_ ). Grinning, she said, “Oh, go on then. Let’s find wine.”

Nikola’s answering grin was infectious. “I knew there was a reason we kept her around,” he stage-whispered to Nigel as all three left the hair and beauty aisle, Helen’s arm still entwined with Nikola’s.

\--

Nikola and Nigel were sharing a double room that overlooked the car park. For a hotel room, it was ok, though someone (‘Nikola, definitely,’ Helen thought, smiling) had already connected his laptop to the large flat screen tv. Two double beds faced said television, whilst a door close to the way in led to the bathroom.

“How did you get a double room?” Helen asked, plopping down on the closest bed.

“We got upgraded,” Nigel explained. “They cocked up and double booked our rooms.”

“Yes, so we get this slice of luxury,” Nikola finished, opening a bottle of Bordeaux and pouring two glasses to let it breathe.

“Lucky bastards,” she whispered.

Nikola and Nigel shared a smirk before handing Helen a premixed bottle of vodka and coke. She looked at the bottle then back at Nikola. He shrugged. “Wine can’t breathe in the bottle, and I haven’t a decanter so they’ll have to sit out of the way for a while.”

Helen blinked before laughing gregariously. “Bloody hell Nik, you really do know this wine stuff!” Shrugging, she drank from the bottle as Nigel drank from his.

Nikola huffed a little, “Show a bit of class,” he muttered before opening his own bottle of vodka and coke.

“Oh, I don’t mean it badly Nikola,” Helen explained.

“We just thought you Google’d this shit,” Nigel finished for her as if he knew her train of thought.

“Well, not so crudely as Nigel put it, but yes,” she added, smiling.

Nikola waved it away. “It’s fine, I know when to educate philistines, and when to just drink with them.” He winked at Helen. “Thankfully, I’m in a mood to play teacher.” 

“Why thank you, Mr Tesla,” Helen replied, mock-serious, slightly surprised by the huskiness of her own voice. Licking her lips, watching Nikola watch her, she took another sip, grinning. “So…” She reached into her bright orange bag and brought out the blue boxes. “How do you suggest we do this?”

Between the three of them, they got _Pointless_ on the iPlayer, found a dark t-shirt for Helen, (“You don’t want hair dye on your shirt,” Nikola explained, handing her Nigel’s spare spare shirt, clean but buried at the bottom of his overnight bag), got the wine glasses in arm’s reach, a chair for Helen (“Unless you want to sit between my—“ Nikola went red, Helen drank hers, avoiding his eyes, trying not to imagine being there) and another bottle of beer for Nigel (who laughed as both she and Nikola buzzed around each other, teasing and playing, the weight of an imaginary arm on her shoulders lessening). “Should I mix these up for you?” she asked, holding the bottles from the first box.

Nikola nodded distractedly – Alexander Armstrong had asked a science question. “Thallium!” he called out.

“Copernicium,” Helen added, after thinking for a moment.

“Protactinium,” Nigel said, dropping the name like a bomb. Helen looked at him, confusion on her features. Nigel shrugged, “ _Pointless_ fave, innit?”

Helen was only a tad bit miffed that he got a pointless answer whilst hers got three.

Both bottles of hair dye mixed at the same time, Nikola got to work. “Wow Helen, what have you been doing to your hair?”

She blushed furiously and glugged down her wine (much to Nikola’s horror). “You don’t want to know.”

Nikola’s eyes went wide. “If it’s making you chug wine like water, I really need to know.” His tone was lecherous, the words warm in her ear.

A shiver coursed down her spine. Shaking her head, she looked up at him through her lashes, “Maybe later. I’m nowhere near drunk enough to tell you… Or you Nige,” she added, seeing him about to ask.

“Thankfully, I have a brush and as such can save the day,” Nikola muttered as he walked from the chair where Helen sat regally.

“Seriously, Helen, what happened?” Nigel whispered.

She shook her head vigorously. “Seriously Nigel, no.”

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged, giving Richard Osman the finger.

An hour later, with her hair slathered in dye, Helen opened the orange bag again. Tapping Nikola’s elbow as he fiddled with the laptop ( _Such a lovely view_ ), she wiggled another bottle of wine in front of him when he turned.

“H—How?”

She smiled. “I saw you looking at it, and seeing as you’re doing my hair and letting me watch your tv, it’s the least I can do.” She handed him the bottle. She’d seen him almost drooling over the bottle, but between the cookies, the alcopops and the two other bottles of wine, he couldn’t quite stretch it. But she could, and did, gladly. “Well, open it then!” she added, flapping her hands to make him move.

Grinning, he all but ran for the corkscrew. Helen laughed at the comical expression on his face when he stopped suddenly. “We’ll have it once we’ve rinsed that dye off. Let’s open this merlot instead.”

Another twenty minutes, then Nikola announced (a bit slurred) that it was time to wash the dye out. Blinking a bit blearily, because that merlot packed a punch, Helen nodded, licking her lips unconsciously. “You got shampoo in there?”

“Has he got shampoo? The man has more hair things than any woman I know,” Nigel answered, not taking his eyes off the tv. “Do you think they actually like each other off-screen?”

“Probably,” Helen said. “They’ve been on Scott Mills together without any awkwardness…” She looked at them both, taking in their stunned countenances. “What? I listen to Radio 1…”

Shaking his head, Nikola told her to grab the conditioners from the boxes and that he’d be through in a second.

“I can wash my own hair Nikola,” she told him, standing up. She suddenly realised that, actually, she wasn’t as tall as him. With that new piece of information firmly in place ( _I wouldn’t have to crick my neck so much_ ), she went to the bathroom. Running the shower, it took moments to get to temperature, and (a bit dizzy) Helen started the process of washing out the excess dye. Barely a minute went by before: 

“Nikola! I left the conditioner out there!”

\---

“What was it you said, I can wash my own hair Nikola,” he called through the door, conditioner bottles in one hand, wine glasses (hers with small lipstick marks along the ridge, not that he noticed the colour, or the shape, or how she usually sipped from the same spot) in the other.

The door opened. Stepping over the threshold he guffawed. Helen had her head, dripping water and dye, angled over the bath. Tapping her foot, Helen rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know.”

“Helen, all you had to do was say and—“

“I know,” she ground through gritted teeth. “Close the bloody door, it’s draughty enough as it is.”

He eyed her warily. “Are you sure you’re ok?” he asked, offering both her glass of wine and the conditioner.

Taking the wine, she nodded, after throwing back half a glass. “Can you wash this stuff out please, Nikola?”

Wordlessly, he deposited his glass by the door and threw the conditioner bottles into the bath. Stalking past her, he picked up the shower head from the bath, then motioned for Helen to get comfy.

“Ah,” she said. “How do you want me?” She blushed, realising what she had said. “Oh, you know what I mean.”

He quirked an eyebrow, a satisfied smirk dancing on his lips. “Yes, I do…” Turning away, he felt her lower to the floor, and her hand on his foot. “Ready?” he asked, turning back and looking down into her eyes. _Breathe in breathe out breathe in breathe out. Ignore where her head is._

“As I’ll ever be,” she murmured, watching as he knelt beside her.

He tried to be as gentle as he could, not wanting to tangle his fingers in her hair, massaging her scalp thoroughly but carefully. Helen closed her eyes and Nikola felt the warmth in his stomach increase at her obvious comfort and ease. Sipping her drink, she sighed when she reached the bottom.

“It’s been a bad night then?” Nikola asked quietly.

“Until about eight this evening, yes,” she answered, just as quietly.

He nodded, concentrating on getting the dye out and not on how flushed her cheeks were, or how her eyes were shining in this fluorescent light.

“Helen… What’s this on your arm?”

“Hmm… Oh!” Thunder overcame her features. “Well, when I broke up with John, he wasn’t too happy.”

“So he practiced his restraining techniques on you?” Nikola asked, aghast, almost dousing her with water as he forgot the shower head in his grip.

Helen waved her hand in front of her face. “It doesn’t matter. He’s a bloody idiot anyway.”

“Oh?” He was trying for uninterested.

“Don’t pretend you aren’t intrigued,” she told him. “It doesn’t suit you.” She tried getting the last drip out of her glass, and he felt his mouth dry instantly at the sight of her tongue at the glass’ edge.

“Hang on,” Nikola muttered, dropping the shower head into the bath, aiming the water into the plughole. Swinging a leg over her knees, he leant over Helen and grabbed his forgotten wine glass. Smiling, he turned his head to face her, his nose hitting hers gently. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she breathed, eyes wide and bright.

He swallowed nervously. “Wine?”

Helen licked her lips again before nodding, taking the glass from him as he sat back on his heels. She drank a mouthful, her eyes trailing the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed hard. She held the glass out to him, “Letting it breathe does help,” she whispered.

He nodded mutely, taking the proffered glass and drinking from it. Handing it back to her, he almost missed her turning the stem between her finger and thumb before drinking. His brain short-circuited.

“You best finish that off,” she murmured, tilting her head back minutely towards the bath. Gulping, he moved to go back to her side, but the hand on his thigh stopped her. “Stay,” she whispered. “Yo—You’ll be able to rinse the other side of my head better.”

His words had deserted him, so he did the only thing he could.

Grabbing the shower head, he washed the last bit of dye from the other side of her head, their shared wineglass between her hip and his knee, as he tried vainly to ignore her little pants of breath against his cheek and neck.

“Conditioner,” he whispered, leaning forward, pausing when he felt her lips against his shoulder, groaning slightly when she strayed her kisses to his neck.

“Sorry,” she muttered, not sorry at all.

“Temptress,” he breathed into her ear, trying to find a bottle of conditioner.

“You’ve got a scruff.” As if that explained everything. “And you smell nice.”

Conditioner finally found and squeezed into his hand, he worked it in slowly, revelling in the arduous torture. He had his arms around her, her eyes watching his, that delectable lower lip pinched between her pearly whites as he started rinsing.

“He couldn’t make me cum,” she whispered to his chest as he rinsed out the conditioner.

His fingers stilled. “Helen.” A warning.

She ignored it. “He moaned that he hadn’t had sex in ages, then the bastard couldn’t hold out long enough to get me off.” Groaning, her head fell back when his fingers tightened in her hair, now clean of product.

“Stop telling me that Helen, it’s not playing fair.” The words were hot, his mouth close to that sweet spot where neck meets shoulder, his forehead on the bath’s edge.

Her hand came up to his cheek away from her face, a fingertip against his ear. Sighing his name, she kissed his cheek. “I don’t play,” she murmured, her cheek against his. He moved his head, catching her lips with his, drawing her lip between his teeth. She rolled her body up against his, plastering herself to him as her mouth opened beneath his, their tangling tongues sending a bolt of lust through him as the shower head snaked wildly in the bath, sending water everywhere.

The door reverberated. “Oh, come on you two, I need a piss.”

Lips separating, they rested their foreheads together. “We’ll be out in a mo,” Helen yelled, her voice much sturdier than Nikola expected. “Well,” she whispered.

“Well,” he echoed, a small smile tugging the corner of his mouth.

She jutted her chin, eyes wide. “I can’t do anything under you.”

He smirked lasciviously, “I can think of more than a few things you can do under me.” Kissing the spot behind her ear, he added, “And I’d make you scream before I finished.”

Eyes darkening with lust. “Is that a fact Mr Tesla?”

He dropped a kiss onto her waiting lips, “Its a promise, Miss Magnus.”

“Seriously! I’m busting here! Bloody hell, you two are worse than a bunch of footy players after a match!”


	4. Quizzing and Some Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of the Helen, Nikola, and Nigel friendship show, some food, and some kissing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm, so I love Helen, Nikola, and Nigel being friends (if you couldn't tell), and I can't deny myself the indulgence of having them hang out for yet another chapter. I hope you enjoy (and if you do, lemme know! The comment box looks scary but I seriously re-read all the wonderful comments you leave me, and I adore them! XD), and if you notice any mistakes (I probs will after I post this chapter), please drop me a note.
> 
> Hope you all have a great day!

“I found some old episodes of Only Connect,” Nigel explained as he sat down next to Helen. She was on the sofa, drinking her wine, casting longing glances at Nikola, sitting at the table and doing exactly the same thing when he thought she wasn’t looking. If Nigel didn’t find it so cliched and boring, he’d think their behaviour almost sweet.

Idiots, but sweet.

“I didn’t know you liked this,” Helen remarked quietly. “I used to watch it with my dad, before I came to uni.”

“He likes it because of old what’s her name, uh… Vicky Blondie,” Nikola teased, just as quietly, holding his hands, cupped, in front of his chest.

“I can see why,” she murmured, head tilted to one side, her hair twisted up in a towel, looking ridiculous.

“Give over,” he complained, chucking an empty crisp packet at Nikola’s head, who batted it away with a smirk. “She’s bloody brainy, and an Oxford graduate.”

“And she has a stonking pair,” Helen added, grinning as she echoed Nikola’s earlier mime.

Nigel shook his head, rolled his eyes and stuck up his middle finger; Helen blew him a kiss, winking.

“Prat,” he muttered as she fiddled with her glass. Nikola seemed to be watching her like a hawk, though anytime he caught Helen’s eye their smiles got bigger. 

She just shrugged. “Been called worse.” A breath, after a glance into her glass. “Nikola?” she sing-songed. Had she been sat on a swing or a bench, Nigel swore her legs would be swinging. He could even picture the pigtail she’d be twirling around one finger as she needled Nikola.

“Helen?” he sung back, pouring himself a glass of wine.

“Fill me up?” she asked coquettishly, holding out her glass, batting her eyelashes.

Nigel couldn’t help it; he guffawed into his beer bottle whilst Nikola quirked an eyebrow. Helen copied him before dissolving into giggle fits.

“And what’s the magic word?” he asked ( _was that a purr?_ Nigel's stomach turned), standing from the table, wine bottle in one hand, glass in the other.

“Pretty please?” she asked, the eyelashes going again as Nigel prodded himself.

“I am still here, right? You can see me?”

“Of course we can, Nige,” Helen replied, watching Nikola pour her wine. “Just gimme a clue where I should be looking.”

“Wounded!” he cried, chugging his beer as they laughed good naturedly. Nikola sat next to Helen, his arm resting along the back of the sofa as he drank his wine, whilst Helen sat forward, tapping Nikola’s knee (and Nigel’s own, though nowhere near as frequently) when she tried to think of the answer. Nigel couldn’t help but notice how excitable she got watching the show, especially when she got an answer right. “How come you never bounce about like this when they record you?” he asked, after the third round.

She looked at him in surprise. “I don’t bounce.”

Nigel glanced at Nikola, who seemed hypnotised even though she wasn’t moving. “Yes you do.”

“Yeah…” Nikola breathed, earning a sharp, worried glance from Helen. “I mean…”

Shrugging, she sipped her wine. “I… I don’t know. Didn’t realise I bounced.” Without warning, she took off the towel turban, dark hair where blonde used to be falling around her shoulders. Fingering a lock, she looked the colour, analysing it in a way. Nigel mentally shrugged and turned back to the tv, the Missing Vowels round about to start.

“I was right,” Nikola whispered, “you do look hot as a brunette.”

“I look like a drowned rat,” she whispered back.

Some shuffling, “Still hot.”

Nigel rolled his eyes and thanked God he had Victoria to distract him.

\--

They were part way through their second episode of Only Connect when Nigel announced, “I’m hungry,” over Victoria explaining an answer.

Helen almost replied, ‘You’re always hungry,’ when her stomach nixed the idea. Suddenly all she wanted was a chicken burger and some chips. “Me too,” she said instead, nodding her head. “Really hungry.”

“Kebab place down the road?” Nigel asked, gazing mournfully at his stomach as it rumbled and grumbled.

She knew her whole expression was drunken confusion. “How d’you know there’s one there?”

Nigel laughed, standing up from the sofa. “Google, love. Come on Nik, we need to sober her up some.”

Nikola shook his head, and Helen pouted. “I’m not hungry,” he told them, looking steadfastly at the tv.

Narrowing her eyes, Helen got up from her perch on the sofa and plonked herself next to Nikola on his bed. “Please come get food with us, please?” She smiled brightly (knowing she probably looked like an idiot, but she hadn’t acted sensibly all night, so why start now?), and caught the moment when he glanced at her and had to smother his own grin. “Who knows what might happen to us, walking down a dark street in a strange town. What if a vampire jumps out on us?”

Nigel guffawed as Nikola smirked. “They’d have their work cut out with you,” he answered, eyes flicking down to her neck then back to her face, one eyebrow raised. “Pretty sure vampires drink blood, not supermarket Shiraz.”

“Are you willing to put that to the test though?” she asked, serious tone to her voice, eyes narrowed and staring at him. “Would you be able to live with yourself if I was turned into one?” The blush staining Nikola’s cheeks bolstered her resolve, and she carried on. “I’d vant to suck your blood,” she whispered saucily, dissolving into giggle fits with him when he corpsed and laughed.

“Alright, alright, I’ll be Buffy,” he finally conceded, gulping down his last mouthful of wine. “Fair warning though…” he said quietly, turning his torso to face her, his hand close to hers on the mattress, and Helen suddenly became acutely aware of how little space there was between them, the bed beneath them, and the snick of the bathroom door shutting, “I like being bitten.”

“Really?” Helen asked breathlessly, hypnotised by his blue eyes; blue eyes that chanced a glance at her lips, and widened when she dragged her lower lip through her teeth.

Nodding, “And I bite back.”

She jumped when she heard the bathroom door open again, the spell broken. Looking over at Nigel, she felt Nikola squeeze her hand before standing up. “Excuse me, Helen, Prat.” Helen watched as he and Nigel swapped places, before reaching for her wine glass, almost empty of its contents.

“You do know he fancies the pants off you?” Nigel asked, collapsing next to her, not looking away from the quiz on the tv as he held his drink. “Nikola, I mea--”

“I know who you mean,” Helen interrupted quietly, looking down at her glass. The stem felt thinner than before, or was that just her imagination? It was running smoother between her fingers than it was earlier.

“He’s a right prat a lot of the time, but he’s decent.” She could feel him looking at her, analysing her. His eyes kept straying to her hair. “He wouldn’t have done that for anyone else.”

Helen nodded. She’d guessed that from the way he kept blushing and fussing and how he parted her hair as if he’d trained all his life for that moment. “I--”

“Just don’t cock it up,” Nigel finished, taking a large gulp. “I don’t think it would do either of you much good.”

Helen sipped her wine, the dregs swirling around the bulb of the glass when she started twirling the glass again. “What if… What if I know I could cock it up but I don’t want to?” she asked, not looking up, the red liquid hypnotising her.

He sighed and shrugged, and Helen suddenly felt as if she was talking to the oldest soul imaginable. “You don’t cock up.”

Looking up sharply, she glared for half a moment before laughing, tears of mirth (and maybe desperation) rolling down her cheeks. “That’s it? That’s the master plan?”

“Oh bloody hell, Helen, you are drunk if you’re seriously listening to me!” Nigel admonished, making her laugh even harder.

“Only because your voice is so melodious compared to the offering on the tv,” she crooned, downing her wine and waggling her eyebrows.

Nigel gasped. “Take that back!”

“Shan’t!” Arms folded, she stuck her tongue out, smiling all the while.

“What has poor Vicky Coren-Mitchell ever done to you?” he asked, putting down his bottle.

She waggled her eyebrows again, “Wouldn’t you like to know!”

Nigel narrowed his eyes. “Tesla! Hurry up, we really have to get food to sober this one up! She’s not being nice to my Victoria!” He yelled over his shoulder in the direction of the bathroom, and Helen hoped they wouldn’t get complaints.

\--

The kebab shop wasn’t too busy, what with it being after midnight on a Monday night ( _Tuesday morning?_ ). Brightly lit with stock photos of food, Helen was suddenly glad they walked the ten minutes it took to get there, although she regretted not grabbing a jumper. Rubbing her arms, she ordered her food and extra for Nikola (he’d been looking longingly at the frying burgers), grinning as the man behind the counter handed her two cans of pop and her change.

“It isn’t wine,” she said, plonking the can in front of Nikola, sitting herself down in the chair next to him, “but its made from berries, so close enough.”

Bleary eyed, Nikola smiled gratefully at the purple can. “I’ve been here two years and I’ve never tried this before.”

“Well, who better to break your duck with than friends?” Nigel asked, as he and Helen opened their drinks. 

“The still kind is better, but this’ll do,” Helen added. “To breaking ducks.”

After toasting, Helen watched eagle eyed as Nikola sipped. And sipped some more. “This shouldn’t taste this good but…” He glugged down more, Helen drinking hers a bit more sedately.

“So how come you’ve chucked Lurch?” Nigel asked.

Helen and Nikola blushed. Playing with the can in her hands, she finally said, “Let’s just say he didn’t have the stamina to keep up.”

Nigel’s eyes boggled. “What? You mean he couldn’t--” He whistled as he raised his finger.

Helen shook her head, sure she was now the same red as the menus. “No, he could do that bit... “ Sighing, she shrugged. “I just got tired of getting myself off.” She canted her head from side to side. “The, ‘You’re my woman, you do as I say,’ attitude rather rankled me too. As if I’m some possession. No, thank you.”

Nigel nodded, “He’s a bit of a see you next Thursday if you ask me.” He nodded to her arms. “Is that how…?”

Blanching, she looked at her arms. Sure enough the sleeves had moved up and the bruises left were on show. “Bloody hell.” Before she could say anything, she was enveloped in Nikola’s jacket. Blinking, slightly surprised, she murmured a grateful, “Thank you.”

He shook his head and sipped his drink.

“John got a bit… forceful… when I told him it was over,” she admitted, wondering where the food was as she spoke. “... So I punched him.” Looking down, she only heard Nigel’s warm chuckle.

“I’d’ve paid good money to see that,” he said. Helen’s heart started beating again, glad there were no recriminations from him, just unspoken support. She hadn’t realised how much she appreciated his friendship until that moment. She was about to smile and joke, but he was on his feet. “Come on,” he explained, “grub’s up.”

\--

Nigel collapsed on the bed face first, the polystyrene box of food close to his head. “Next time I eat in the shop.”

“And deprive us of your scintillating complaints on the walk back?” Helen joked, sitting next to him. “You’d be bored.”

“And full,” he grumbled. With a groan, he rolled onto his side. “I'm too old for this.”

“You're too drunk for this,” Nikola corrected, sitting on the other side of Helen. “What is that, anyway? Looks like cooked tapeworm.”

Nigel looked down at the box, back up at Nikola and shoved a mouthful in. “Doner meat.”

Helen shook her head, shoving his legs gently. “Didn't your mum teach you not to talk with your mouth full?”

“She’ not ‘ere,” he argued, still munching. “One of you put on the quiz, eh?”

“Magic word, oh masticating one?”

Nikola held up his hands. “Please, Helen, don't make me watch him beg with his mouth like that.” Nigel grinned at him, cheerfully flipping Nikola the bird. “I'll press play,” he added, sneering at Nigel's food.

They fell into a companionable quiet as they ate and watched quizzes, Helen curling closer to Nikola as they shared a portion of cheesy chips. Fewer answers were given, although Nikola surprised her by naming some older Disney films (gaining a pointless answer with _The Black Cauldron_ ; he remained steadfastly quiet as to how he knew it).

Content and full, Helen was almost dozing on Nikola's shoulder when Nigel started snoring, his head in the box where his kebab had been. Glancing at each other, the two stifled giggles as they moved to the other bed, mostly sitting back down as they'd been before. It was only as she looked to say something that some odd, magnetic quality entered their space, his eyes darting down to her lips. They suddenly felt tight, and dry, necessitating her licking the corners of her mouth as they breathed the same heady air.

His hand touched her hair, gently moving backwards until he cradled her head, his lips descending on hers. Even in her semi drunken state she knew this was different. It wasn't a reverential kiss, or one intrinsically given with the sole purpose of getting in her knickers. This was… tender, sweet, even a touch exploratory as his tongue swept her lips, mimicking her own actions barely seconds earlier. It spurred her forward, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as her mouth opened, her tongue meeting his. She could kiss him like this for hours.

It was Nigel's snores - much louder than before - acting as ice cold water that stopped what Helen would've counted as one of her top five snog sessions dead in its tracks. Chuckling quietly, Nikola rested his forehead against hers, looking deep into her eyes. “I best turn off the tv.”

“You best had,” she murmured, kissing him again.

Another snore. They both glared at Nigel, completely sparko in his food. Kissing her cheek, Nikola quickly moved from her arms, turning off the television and the lamp next to Nigel's bed as she snuggled down under the duvet.

Grinning, he came back to bed. Both were fully dressed under the covers, but for some strange reason it still sent a shiver of delight down Helen's spine. “I shouldn’t,” Nikola murmured, pushing back a lock of hair.

“Shouldn’t what?” Helen asked, trying to hold back a yawn and the urge to climb into his arms. The bed was just so comfortable, and the warmth radiating from him was addictive.

“Let you near me,” he replied.

“Why not?”

He shrugged, and shook his head (which looked a bit uncomfortable for the arm he rested on). “In the morning you’re going to wake up, groan for some painkillers and water, check your phone and smile because of your lock screen. And I’m here getting my hopes up that you’d even look at me when in two days time you’ll just look at me as a friend again.”

She furrowed her brow. “My lock screen?”

“Yeah,” he sighed.

“Why would I smile at my lock screen?” She debated lying flat on her back verses mirroring Nikola, but mirroring won out. Making herself comfortable, she tried glaring at him for an answer, but was too thoroughly drunk to do so.

“From all the pleading texts from Tall And Creepy wanting you back.”

That stopped her short. “I… I wouldn’t…”

Nikola smiled sadly at her. “You say that now.”

Moving her head, lying flat on the bed, she muttered darkly, “You really don’t know me.” A sigh escaped her. 

“I’d like to,” he whispered, his fingertips brushing her knuckles. A million tiny lightning bolts shot along her skin.

She nodded, unseeing. “My aunt, on mum’s side, had a somewhat torrid relationship with her first husband... I don’t call him my uncle… She loved him but… He hurt her. Often.” _Breathe in, breathe out._ “Do you know why I’m studying to become a doctor?” She felt, rather than saw, him shake his head. “When she finally left him, she was this pale imitation of the person mum spoke about in bedtime stories, her spirit and her bones broken, and massive bruises blossoming on her face.” Needing him to understand, Helen turned enough to lean on her elbow, looking straight into Nikola’s eyes. “I swore I’d never be like her, never stay with a man who’d use me as a punchbag, and I’d help people like my aunt when they needed help.” Shaking her head, she bowed her head. “I'll never go back… And anyway,” she looked up at him again, her expression shrewd, “who’s to say I should let you get close to me?”

“What?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Nikola Tesla, I heard all about you and Lizzie, and what’s-her-name Coates?”

“Jean?” he asked, boggled.

Helen nodded. “I heard you broke their hearts full in half.”

He scoffed then sobered. “Lizzie dumped me. Didn’t like that we flirted for ages, kissed a lot but I didn’t want to have sex with her.”

“What?”

“What do you mean, what?”

“You flirted for ages, kissed lots but didn’t shag? Why not?” Her tone was gentle even though the idea bemused her.

Nikola shrugged. “I didn’t like her enough.” Helen made a noise full of confusion and Nikola sighed. “I… That is… I don’t…”

“You don’t jump into bed with the first person you see?” she asked, smiling slightly at the irony of their position.

“Well… yeah,” he answered, in a tone that both shocked and bothered her. She knew he could be gentle, had witnessed it first hand (literally, as her hair could attest), but after months of his brash, arrogant nature it felt odd. Not wrong, but different. Unexpected. A surge of affection coursed through her, wanting to bundle him up away from prying, judging eyes.

“But earlier…”

He shrugged, “I don’t really know either. I just… know, should we get to a place where we're having sex I… I’d be…” He groaned, and covered his eyes with his hand. _Those fingers…_ Helen’s breath caught - a soft, muted gasp - as Nikola hastily announced, “I’d be happy if it was with you.”

Her eyes widened. “Wow. That's… wow.”

He shook his head, his own eyes wide open. “But not now.”

“Obviously,” she breathed hastily, smiling with relief. “We're much too drunk.”

“Exactly,” he agreed, smiling back.

A snore.

“And we have company,” she added.

He grinned, moving a bit closer. “Another astute observation, Miss Magnus.”

She glanced at his lips again, suddenly wishing the world away to taste them again. “And someone mentioned something about making me scream,” she whispered, her lips bare millimeters from his.

“A promise is a promise,” he countered, brushing away her fringe with the softest touch, leaning in to bridge the tiny gap. Her eyelids fluttered closed.

Yes, she could kiss like this for hours.


	5. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the morning after the night before; Helen and James catch up, and they all record another round. Except John can't let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this hasn't been updated in a while, but I was asked about it last night. I knew I had some written, but I actually had more of it written than I remembered, so here's a chapter. Not so much Helen/Nikola but the lady needs to know her friends are there for her.
> 
> Unbeta'd, so if there are any mistakes hit me up. Otherwise, enjoy and let me know what you think! :D

“So...” James began, as they walked, and Helen wasn’t sure where his mind, or his words, were going, “brunette?”

She narrowed her eyes in confusion before she realised what he meant. Touching a strand, she smiled at her childhood friend, eyes shining happily. “Yes... I fancied a change.”

James nodded. “Suits you.”

She shrugged. “Thank you...” A pause, a small cough and a wry smile, “I'm hoping it'll stop all the blonde jokes...” She rolled her eyes.

James was agog. “They never bothered you before... Who are you and what have you done to the real Helen Magnus?” He looked into her eyes, worry written in his own. “I mean, you like yourself. You’ve never changed for someone else. What was it you used to say? ‘My hair does not define my ability.’ You're a leader, a shining example of a woman in STEM.” He made a fist and waved it in solidarity, having heard her tirades of inequality in scientific subjects. “You're amazing.”

Helen quirked an eyebrow. “You don't know that Jim,” she told him, shaking her head, laughing slightly.

“Of course I do Helen. I know you well enough to know you'll do brilliant things.” He nudged her shoulder with his. “You're better than half the college at any rate. And you wouldn't be doing this, as the captain no less, if you didn't have at least three independent thoughts in your head.”

She nibbled her lip, stopping, deep in thought as she remembered the why of her sudden change.

James must have noticed, as his hands rested on her shoulders. “You are better than John. You're worth twenty of him.”

Both were looking so intently at each other that neither saw him approach. “Helen?”

Her eyes flew wide in surprise, before narrowing. All her muscles tensed. “Yes, John?” she asked, turning her head slightly but not leaving the support of James' presence.

“Your hair?” he asked quietly, stalking closer to the two, fully aware of Helen's mood and seemingly ignoring it. She could feel her heart begin to race. “I like it.”

James laughed good naturedly. He wanted to stop the argument before it began, as usual, and Helen couldn’t fault him that. “It’s wonderful, isn’t--”

“I didn't ask your opinion,” John interrupted, not sparing a glance to the other man.

James narrowed his eyes as Helen squared her shoulders, and turned to face him. “I don't have to explain myself to you.” James squeezed her hand, reminding her he was there. “I don't have to explain any of my choices to you. I told you that, last night. Don't speak to me, or call me, or text me or anything like that.” She stepped forward, away from James. Her words were quiet. “Leave me alone.”

John laughed darkly. “Oh Helen, I can't do that. We’re made for each other, we’re eternal. We’re--”

Fire blossomed in her chest and came out in full force against John's face, a resounding crack filling the air as she slapped him. “We’re nothing, John Druitt, nothing. If you refuse to understand that--”

“You'll what, Helen? Set your lap dog on me?” John laughed derisively. “You need me and you know it.” He reached over and gently tucked an errant strand behind her ear. She felt her breath catch as she steadfastly refused to be cowed to him. His voice dropped to a velvet whisper, and against good sense and better judgement, Helen felt her stomach give way to the deep warmth he could encourage. “You hate that you need me.” Her personal space was no longer her own, his words for them alone. “Hate and love are but a breath apart... I'll be here.” The kiss he forced onto her lips bruised, fingers tangling into the hair he just tucked behind her ear as he pulled her head back. Disgust and arousal shot through her as twin zephyrs before he abruptly released her. “A breath, Helen,” he intoned. Smiling, he turned and walked away, head held high with his hands in his pockets.

Gasping, she felt the prickly heat building behind her eyes as James wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Bloody bastard!” she moaned, trying furiously to blink back the tears. “Why does he always bloody do that?”

“Might it be something to do with you taking him back anytime you’ve split up?” he asked gently, rubbing her arm.

Pulling away from him slightly, she stared at him, part accusatory, part defiant. “What?”

James sighed, his arm falling back to his side. “Back when we were freshers, a few weeks after Christmas, you stormed into my dorm room, slamming the door complaining about his outdated attitudes to women, and how you were glad to be shot of him.”

She leant back on her heels, arms around her waist. “Yes, bu—”

He gazed into her eyes kindly. “Who were you texting a week later? And then last year, not even a month into the first term, you slammed the door in his face.”

She flushed, remembering that time. “But that—”

“I’m not saying you’re to blame, Helen. John’s very forthright in his liking you but after a short while together you both stop being happy. It's like I’m watching a lecture on gender politics, where he’s the archetypal man but you’re not bowing to his whims like a “typical woman” would.” Helen chuckled hollowly, watching his fingers imitate bunny ears, hearing the unspoken words as loudly as if he yelled them. “Maybe this time you…” He sighed. “This time don’t take him back. Really think about how you feel.”

Helen looked down at the floor, slowly starting to walk again. “I kissed Nikola last night,” she mumbled a few minutes later.

James stared, agog. “What?”

She rolled her eyes, and smiled briefly. “I spent the evening with him and Nigel, after they found me in the shop looking at hair dye.” She fingered her brunette locks ( _You do look hot_ rushing around her mind), “He did a good job.”

“Nikola?”

She nodded. “Older sisters. Doesn’t matter.”

“But kissing him does?”

Again, she nodded, flushing. “We just kissed, but...” She smiled, feeling the warmth

“Helen…”

“It felt different,” she whispered. “Like, it wasn’t a knock out, drag out fight, or a race to get naked.” Smiling, she glanced at her fringe, as dark as the box promised. “And more than just me kissing him, it was all easy.”

“Kissing him was easy or--?” Helen blushed a deep pink and James looked at her agog.

“If it wasn’t for Nigel banging on the door, or snoring loud enough to wake the dead…”

“Helen Magnus! You… You…!”

“I what, James?” she asked, stopping and turning to face him. “I snogged someone? I didn’t lock myself away for the night crying at being manhandled and left wanting? I almost shagged someone who could actually give a damn about me? What?” James blanched and Helen realised her words. She looked away. “It’s… It wasn’t…”

“Manhandled?” he whispered. Helen nodded her head slowly. “How?” he asked. 

“It's not important,” she tried to deflect.

“Please.” 

Helen sighed, shrugged, and unzipped her jacket. One arm out, she pushed her t-shirt sleeve up. The bruises were darker today. Watching warily, she tried not to flinch when he held her arm.

“This is why I don’t want him near me again,” she explained, pulling her arm back from his gentle touch and back into her jacket. “I know how bad he is, I really do, but he’s never…” She swallowed. “I couldn’t…”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“What?” She shook her head. “You have nothing to apologise for. This was literally the first time, and only after I told him I was leaving.” Grimacing, she wrapped her arms around her waist again. “You don’t have to apologise.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

She shrugged again. “I was fuming when I left John’s room, and in need of a shower, and--” an embarrassed cough “-- other things.” She needed to move if she was going to carry on this conversation, and they were almost at the hotel. “And I had planned on being alone last night until Nikola and Nigel found me in the shop. Well, Nikola did. Nigel had gone for some Spitfire... A whole squadron of Spitfire.”

James nodded, and Helen hoped it would be the end of it. It wasn’t. “So what did John do?”

“More what he didn’t do,” she muttered.

“Really? Again?” This was a topic she had already waxed lyrical about, any time they had split in the past.

Helen unfocused her eyes and tilted her head to one side, smiling blissfully. “Oh, I can’t Helen, my legs are like jelly.” Straightening, she pursed her lips and pushed a breath out of her nose. “Couldn’t even be bothered to touch me after he’d come. All for one and all for him,” she spat. “Doesn’t matter. I told him I was more than a sex doll and I wasn’t his to own.” She shook her head. “The stupid thing is, it was really good until he finished… So I finished things.” Smiling, having caught sight of Nikola and Nigel, she told James, “It crystallised in my mind that I’m doomed to use vibrators for life if I stayed with him. I’d rather not be the one in control of all my orgasms.”

“But to trust Nikola Tesla?”

Helen shrugged. “I don’t know if anything’s going to come of it. And it’s Nikola. He exaggerates a lot, but…” She breathed, and looked James straight in the eye. “He’s never lied.”

\--

They got to the studio by one pm, on set by half past. Sat in her chair, Helen almost didn’t notice the host coming up to wish them luck, as he’d done with every team before every match. “You’ve changed your hair,” he commented. “It suits you.”

Blushing, she thanked him, turning to Nikola once he’d gone. “Didn’t think anyone would notice,” she confided.

Nikola quirked his eyebrow but before he could say anything John sat down between Helen and James, his whole demeanour dark and foreboding. Helen straightened her back as Nikola tapped her arm, “You ok?”

She nodded. “I will be once this is over.”

Things didn’t go well. James still answered most of their starters for ten, but things soon dissolved as they had to confer. John kept touching Helen’s hand for her attention but she resolutely ignored him unless he was giving an answer. Nikola and James were both staring daggers at him whilst also trying to confer. And in a fit of pique during the first picture round Helen physically turned her chair to Nikola so as not to see John in her periphery.

“And now our music round. Listen to the excerpt and name both the animated film this is from and the composer.”

Helen blanched as John struck the buzzer, barely moments into the song. “Magdalen, Druitt.”

“It's from _The Little Mermaid_ , written by Alan Menken.”

Jeremy Paxman studied him for a moment and the team held their collective breath. “That is correct. For your bonuses, three more excerpts from animated films. For the points, please give me the titles of the films and the artist performing the song.”

Helen tried not to groan, but she knew she’d have to talk to him. Apart from his knowledge of anatomy (mostly complete but lacking in a key area), John also had a near encyclopedic knowledge of animated films. And not just Disney (one of the reasons she had been drawn to him to begin with).

First came Sheena Easton’s song from _Ferngully_ , which he rattled off without a worry.

“It’s from _Mulan_ ,” he murmured, during the second song. “But it isn’t Lea Salonga.”

“It’s Christina Aguilera,” Nikola muttered from her other side.

“I don’t think it is,” John muttered back.

“Helen, trust me, it’s Christina,” said Nikola quietly, not touching her but leaning in ever so slightly.

“It isn’t,” John thundered under the music. James just shrugged.

“Have you another suggestion?” she asked archly as the host prompted them for an answer.

“Go for Lea Salonga, but it isn’t right,” he murmured as Nikola whispered heatedly, “Its Christina. My sister Angelina played the tape constantly for weeks after we watched it.”

Glancing between the two, knowing James had the right attitude, she pushed the names out of her mouth. “ _Mulan_ and Christina Aguilera.” She knew John’s face would have that spoilt brat expression when he realised she’d used Nikola’s answer.

The host smiled and nodded. “Correct. And lastly…”

Helen groaned inwardly because she did know this one, from her summer working in a children’s soft play park. “ _Frozen_ and Demi Lovato,” she replied, not even bothering to lean in to confer.

“Correct again,” the host replied, smiling. Helen smiled back; they were past the halfway mark, but with only a five point lead she didn’t feel confident.

They came to the end - a tie breaker only the captains could answer.

“Born in Vienna in 1902, who proposed the paradox of tolerance, namely that unlimited tolerance must lead to the disappearance of tolerance? The argument appears in the 1945 work, _The Open Society And Its Enemies_.”

“Magdalen, Magnus,” the announcer all but yelled.

Helen swallowed, blinked, and said, “Karl Popper.”

The cheer when Jeremy smiled and said correct deafened Helen. Turning to Nikola, she beamed, grinning as Jeremy did his ending spiel.

“So it's goodbye from Cardiff University--”

“Bye,” they chorused despondently.

“Goodbye from Magdalen College, Oxford--”

“Goodbye,” they responded.

“And goodbye from me. Goodbye.” The music started but the director had already yelled cut. Helen had barely moved her seat when she felt it turn again.

“We need to talk, privately,” John murmured darkly.

“No,” she replied, trying to turn again.

“Helen, listen to me, we need to talk.”

Looking up, she replied in the negative again, not looking away. The streak of vindictive pride as he blushed sped through her soul. “Let go of my seat, John.”

“Not until you listen to me,” he replied.

“John, maybe you should--”

John all but snarled at James, but it was the distraction Helen needed. Quick as a flash she ducked away, brushing passed the desk and Nikola's leg, touching his elbow as she moved. A hand around her upper arm stopped her. “Let go of me,” she told John, in no uncertain terms, knowing it was him by the pressure on her flesh.

“You lot ok?” Nigel asked as he stopped by their bench. Eyeing the tableau before him, he said, “John, Helen asked you to let her go.”

“Did she?” he replied, making a pantomime of his releasing her arm. “I must not have heard her.”

Nikola and James clustered around her, ready to follow her lead as she stared down John. “Nigel heard me, and he was further away. I don't want to go anywhere with you, ever.”

Something made him listen, although Helen was hard pressed to figure out what. With an arched brow, John stepped back, his hands still up in a mockery of surrender. “Eternity, Helen. It's what I promised you.” Smiling, he turned. “I'll see you this evening, and we'll sort things out.”

“Helen?” Whose voice was that? She couldn't tell over the pounding of her heart against her chest, or how her lungs suddenly forgot how to process oxygen. Weak kneed, she staggered away from her three friends as she looked for an exit. Everything swam in front of her eyes and which way was the Earth again? _Sort things out_ swirled around her head in his voice and she knew instinctively she needed air.

_And company._

“Come on Helen, let's get some tea in you,” she heard Nigel murmur by her elbow, “and maybe see if we can find someone who can sneak us in to meet Xander Armstrong.”

Turning to face him, seeing Nikola and James’ worried faces behind him, made her smile exhaustedly. “Tea and _Pointless_ sounds wonderful about now.”


	6. That Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the episode recording, three of The Five take one under their wing.
> 
> And during the course of the evening, Helen tests a hypothesis, and takes command of her situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, if you have me followed on Tumblr, or you're on one of the Discord servers that I haunt, you know already how I feel about bits of this chapter. There are parts I love, but there are parts that made me realise that I really am a ball of fluff (with a slightly gooey and smutty core). But don't let how I feel about my writing colour your opinion of this chapter.
> 
> Warning: John turns up, and is a bit of a mouthy arse.
> 
> As usual, any/all mistakes are mine. If you notice any, please feel free to let me know. Or, if you enjoy this chapter, let me know. :D
> 
> And many thanks to the people who have commented in the past, or have given me some super support through Tumblr and/or Discord. You all rock!

They couldn’t leave straight away. They were meant to record their semi-final round but with all the clarifications asked for, and the re-records of questions, their episode had been pushed back to the next day. That was fine with Nikola, but since her run in with John on set, Helen has been quieter, more on edge. She still joked with them but her laughter died quicker than it had any other night.

By unspoken consensus the three of them clustered Helen into Nigel and Nikola’s suite when they finally arrived back at the hotel, hoping she wouldn’t notice how they kept her as far away from the outside world as possible. On the bus ride back from the studio to town, she received over a dozen text messages. She ignored them all. The trip to the supermarket had been quick, filled with a flurry of ignored text alerts whilst they shopped. As a group they decided to have clear heads that night (and, as much as she had denied it, Helen had suffered from a monumental hangover until her first bacon and fried egg sandwich that morning and said she didn’t want that pain two wake ups in a row). So, with snacks aplenty, and enough fizzy drinks to fuel them, they camped in the suite, watching _Pointless_.

Then _The Chase_.

Then back to _Pointless_ (James really liked Alexander Armstrong - “Did you hear how well he pronounced all that French vocabulary?”). All the way through, her phone beeped. She steadfastly ignored it.

“Can you find any old episodes of _University Challenge_?” James wondered idly, drinking Tango and sitting on the sofa with his legs outstretched.

“You could use the practice,” Nigel muttered, not unkindly. “Lampeter TSD have actually been present for their starters, and answering well, while you seem to be the only one awake.”

“Maybe some of us are finding it difficult to concentrate?” James offered, glancing at Helen curled up between him and Nikola.

Nigel shook his head, “Even before she dumped him you were getting more of the starters.”

“Are you suggesting I should wait for the other team to answer? Even when I know the answer?”

“He’s suggesting that we all get our heads out of our arses,” Helen murmured. “And he’s right.”

Nigel’s face contorted as he said his next piece. “And you need to confer with John.”

Helen sighed. “I know.” She looked at her hands, not watching anyone as she said, “Everytime I look at him I either want to strangle him or…”

“Or?” Nikola asked, stroking her shoulder.

Glancing up through her lashes, she blushed as she said, “Or smack him over the head with the _Kama Sutra_ and explain how sex doesn’t finish when a bloke does.”

“And with that influx of information that I really didn’t need, I’m finding another quiz,” Nigel decreed, taking over the laptop and typing. “Pop Master!”

They all groaned, but having Ken Bruce ask what year something reached number one on the charts, hearing snippets of songs, trying to guess who performed under what name and more questions like that was more fun than they’d anticipated. And it was a subject where James wasn’t all knowing. “I know classical music!” he complained, laughing.

“What’s not classic about Stone Roses?” Nigel asked, pouring James some more pop.

“Apart from the guitars and drums and some Mancunian singing?”

It devolved from there, the two arguing jovially as Helen nudged Nikola and pointed discreetly to the door. He nodded, and as quietly as they could they left the suite.

\--

“What are we doing out in the drizzle?” Nikola asked, watching Helen wrap her arms around herself, hood of her jacket up over her now dark hair (he still boggled at the sight, even though he’d had a hand in the change). 

She shrugged, and smiled. “Needed some fresh air.”

“And I was invited to come along? I must say I’m touched.”

“You were getting bored, I had to save Nigel and James from your inevitable whining.”

“I do not whine!” he argued, grinning.

“You just drink it?” she asked, leaning against a wall and winking.

Stepping to the edge of her personal space, he smiled back saying, “Something like that.”

Nodding, she touched his jacket, echoing his words as she pulled him to her. “There was also something else I needed, but didn’t quite feel comfortable asking you this morning--”

“When you woke up in my bed,” he interrupted, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“-- Or just now, with Nigel and James in the room,” she finished, looking into his eyes and smiling wickedly. “I need to test a hypothesis.”

“Oh?”

Licking her lips, she whispered. “Yes… Kiss me?” Her voice was miniscule between them, a commanding plea just for him. Nodding, he bridged the gap between them, his lips barely brushing against hers when he felt her magnetic pull. Sliding one hand to cradle her head, he grinned as she flattened herself against him, soft curves and an open, willing mouth, her tongue playing with his as her fingers played with his hair. Too soon she pulled away, chest heaving against his as they breathed in their bubble.

“Did that help?” he asked finally, nudging her nose with his.

Eyes wide, sparkling with fizzing desire, she nodded. “Very much.”

Nodding, grinning, he kissed her again, and again, mind whirling gloriously with every touch of her fingers in his hair, every happy hum, the heartstopping moan that filtered through the haze when he kissed her neck in just the right place. All he wanted was to kiss her like this, in a constant state of anticipatory bliss.

But all good things come to an end, and hearing a group yell, “Get a room!” was the proverbial bucket of cold water they needed. Helen, blushing a shade of pink Nikola had never seen before (but hoped to see again), bunched her fingers in his jacket, smiled and said, “We best get back inside.”

“We best had,” he echoed, kissing her gently.

She laughed against his lips. “You’re incorrigible.” She didn’t stop kissing him back until her phone beeped, multiple times.

“It’s upset you’ve not looked at it all afternoon,” he joked when they finally untangled from each other.

She rolled her eyes as she put her phone on silent, not looking at the notifications. “Like I haven’t felt yours vibrating in your pocket from loneliness.”

“Loneliness, or excitement?” he asked, linking her arm with his and leaning in close to whisper.

“Prat.”

\--

It was after two in the morning when the rapping started. James, Helen, and Nigel were already asleep, whilst Nikola was puttering around on his laptop, insulting noobs on his computer game. Looking up, glancing at James then Helen, he grimaced and went to the door. Looking through the spyhole, he sighed, then turned back to the room. Deciding not to wake anyone, he murmured a, “Gimme a minute,” through the wood as he grabbed his key. Taking a breath, he opened the door. “Everyone's asleep.”

“I just want to speak to Helen. She's ignored all my messages.” There was something about John's demeanour that worried Nikola, like a calm lake where you couldn't see the bottom. He was too quiet, too measured with his words. 

Rocking forward gently, Nikola sniffed. Shaking his head, he repeated, “Everyone's asleep. And you've been drinking.”

“Let me in, Nikola.” Still calm, and a polite smile to boot, but glancing up to his eyes Nikola saw the turbulent emotions swirling.

“You're drunk, go back to your room,” he finally advised, making sure his body was between Druitt and the door.

“I need to speak to Helen, now.”

“No.”

John reeled back as if slapped. “No?”

“No,” he repeated, praying someone (Nigel, preferably) would wake up and notice him not there. “Helen's asleep. I'm not waking her up. You can wait until morning.”

The world suddenly disappeared as John hoisted Nikola up against the door. “Listen here, I want to talk to Helen and nobody, including a wine guzzling Yank, is going to stop me. Open the bloody door!”

“What on Ear--?” came from behind Nikola, the door opening and both he and John falling onto James. “Bloody hell, what are you doing?” he yelled, pushing Nikola off him. Neither were fast enough to grab John though, who stampeded into the room. “Bollocks,” James muttered. Nikola’s heart leapt to his throat; the look on John’s face as he loomed over Helen was worse than the polite, vacant smile at the door.

“You bloody whore,” he growled, waking Helen and stopping Nikola and James in their tracks with the tone of his voice. “You leave me and jump into another man’s bed?”

“What?” she asked, voice confused and sleep sodden. 

“After everything I’ve given you, this is how you repay me?”

“John, you’re drunk,” James tried reasoning, moving closer to him, but he didn’t notice, advancing on Helen still prone on the bed.

“Who went first? Watson? Or were you sloppy seconds after Tesla had his go?” By now he had his hands around her wrists, shaking and lifting her as both Nikola and James tried to drag him away, clawing at the fingers bruising her. “I bet you were a slut on her knees, sucking one and fu--”

“Get off me!” she screamed, kicking out and catching him in the groin. This slowed him down, but didn’t stop him.

“Touched a nerve. You want treating like that,” he panted, trying to move forward again but hampered by Nikola, holding on for dear life to his arm and pulling on his ear. “Do you want Griffin to watch? Should I show them the pictures you sent me? The text messages?”

“Stop it, stop it!” she yelled, finally out of his clutches but being pulled away by James. Nikola tried doing the same to John, but a mix of drink, anger, and lust fueled him, propelling him inexorably forward.

Until he wasn’t moving. Nigel stood his ground between them. “Shut the fuck up, John. Some of us are trying to sleep.”

John barely moved his eyes to look down at him. “She won’t touch you.”

“Boo bloody hoo. I just want to bloody sleep,” he ground out. He hardly flinched when John tried raising his fist, Nikola pulling his arm to keep it away from Nigel, but they all reeled back when Helen dashed forward and punched John first, dropping him to the floor.

“Don’t you dare raise your hand to any of us,” she commanded, staring him down in a Def Leppard t-shirt (Nigel’s) and flannel pyjama bottoms (Nikola’s), her hair in a braid. Nikola had never seen her so splendid as in that moment. “It’s over, John, leave me alone. Leave us alone.”

John wiped his nose, his brows furrowing when he saw blood on his hand. “But… We were going to be together, forever.” His voice was small, like his posture, but none of them made any move to help him up.

“I don’t want forever,” she explained, “I want you away from me.”

He stood up, the fight from him gone. “But… I love you.”

“You don't,” she murmured, shaking her head. “You love some glorified ideal of me, and I can't be that person. I'm human, John. I make mistakes. But you batter me with them anytime I do something you disagree with. I'm not a naive eighteen year old anymore.” All the way through she'd been looking at his chest, but she looked up as she said, “I never will be again, and there's nothing you can do to make me her again.

“So please, if you feel anything for me, leave me alone.”

John nodded, and without another word he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

\--

It was four o'clock when Helen wrapped her arms around Nikola's shoulders, watching him send lightning across the screen at a group of zombie goblins. They looked like goblins to her, for the most part. “Come on, it's time for bed,” she murmured.

Nikola tried shaking his head, begging off with a paltry, “I'm not tired,” but the yawn that broke through as he denied his exhaustion deflated him just a bit. “There's nowhere for me to sleep,” he whispered, neither of them wanting to wake Nigel (who slept behind him on the sofa) or James (in what had been Nigel’s bed).

“There's plenty of room next to me,” she said finally.

“I didn’t want to presume, after…” Neither looked directly at the other, their eyes locking instead on the laptop’s screen.

“Come to bed.” It was a whispered command, a breath into his ear that shivered through him and reverberated back to her. He didn’t say anything, just nodded and closed down his game, shutting the laptop’s lid soon after.

“This is nice,” he murmured finally, after they had arranged themselves. She’d been happy to lie next to him until he’d opened his arms in the universal sign for a cuddle, one she was glad to see. “Are you ok?” he asked into her hair.

“I will be,” she told him, quiet and confident.

He hummed. “Good.”

Sleep came soon after, and Helen hadn’t felt that secure in a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol, had to slip my home team in, even if they haven't been on the show since before the take over. XD


	7. Two Rounds Are Better Than One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an exciting night, what does the day hold for our intrepid quizzers?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg we're getting there. We're almost at the end. There's only the epilogue to go after this. This chapter has been a long time in the making, not just because I've had a baby (she's four months old tomorrow) but because this was came after such a heavy chapter. But anyways. :)
> 
> Massive shout out to the Sanctuarians over on the AT Discord server - thank you for your help when I've had screamo moments on uncertainty. I hope you all enjoy this!
> 
> As per, not been beta'd, so any mistakes please don't hesitate to tell me so I can fix them. And with that, I hope you enjoy the fic (lemme know what you think!).

“What do you mean, he's not here?” Nigel asked Helen, leaning on the back of her makeup chair, much to the makeup artist's consternation.

“Just that,” she replied, eyes wide. “One of the production people came up to me, said John had left a message on their answer phone and we’d have to use our fifth.” Thanking the lady, Helen stood up and put her hand on his shoulder. “So sit down, Nige, and get ready for your television debut.”

Aghast, he sat where she had vacated barely seconds earlier. “But…”

“But?”

His cheeks flushed. “It’s stupid, and don’t say I said this...”

“Said what?” Her tone was full of concern, her hand gently landing on his elbow.

“I can't go on TV wearing the t-shirt I slept in.”

Helen blinked, a surprised bark of laughter following in its wake. “Nikola and Jim have already gone back to the hotel to grab you a clean shirt, and a jacket.”

“But I haven't got a jacket,” he muttered as the makeup up lady greeted him properly and started applying foundation. Eyeing the brush distrustful he prayed she wouldn’t make him look orange on camera.

“James said you could use one of his,” Helen replied, sitting in the vacant seat next to him, fiddling with her hair.

“Why do I even have to wear a jacket?” he grumbled, watching Helen's reflection distract herself.

Her shoulders slumped, but her lips got that pinched look that only came before a quiet telling off. Nigel braced himself, hoping the lecture would be swift and merciful. “Do you really want your mother to see you on television wearing an ill fitting t-shirt that has ‘One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor’ emblazoned across your chest? Or for her to see a nice, respectable version of you that we get on with?”

Pouting, all Nigel could say was, “My mother gave me that t-shirt for my birthday.”

\--

“Now let’s welcome back the team from Magdalen College, Oxford,” Jeremy announced, before looking at the four. The tension that usually infused Helen's bones was nowhere to be found today; instead an almost giddy glee cloaked her as Nigel said, “Reading Chemistry.” This was how they should have been from the start - united. Watching as the Lampeter team introduced themselves ( _Two archeologists, an anthropologist, and a theologian? How have they advanced so far?_ ), she smiled at Nikola's water drinking, seeing him in her periphery. He was more than just a touch nervous, having admitted to her early on that he hated British water.

The first question came and went, easy. It was all easy. Answers came to her so quickly now she wasn't constantly on edge, praying Nikola and John would behave.

“Magdalen, Magnus.”

“The New Yorker,” she supplied, smiling at Nikola as she was confirmed correct. Their bonuses were perhaps better suited for Lampeter - theology - but Nikola shone. Helen had no idea he had such breadth of knowledge, or how well it merged with Nigel's.

And who knew both Nigel and James knew flag semaphore? “The Beatles,” Nigel explained during the applause. The first picture round had more semaphore images, giving Nigel and James an excuse to confer whilst Helen and Nikola watched.

The rest of the quiz passed in a haze, and the odd question here and there made the four of them smile - Nigel answering something about Keats and his take on Spike Milligan running through her mind, Nikola knowing long, random German words, the introduction to _Hooked on a Feeling_ as the music question - and at no point did Helen have the ghastly sensation of dread. With John in the wind like a dandelion's seed she could just… quiz, answer questions, confer with her team, and be astounded by their combined knowledge.

"You're bouncing," Nigel commented as Lampeter tried answering questions about Niels Bohr and his atomic model.

"No, I'm not," she shot back almost instantly, hissing the words out of the side of her mouth. Her smile remained perfectly affixed.

"Yes, you are," he asserted, "and it's grand."

The gong rang. Everyone exhaled. Then Helen realised: they trounced Lampeter soundly.

"And now we know our second grand finalists,” Jeremy announced. “Join us next week to see Gonville and Caius verses Magdalen. For now…” Jeremy’s voice melted into the background.

They were in the final.

\--

Of course, they didn’t have to wait a week. Once they’d re-recorded sections, everyone had a change of outfits, and the names on the desks changed, the Magdalen team were (just about) back in the spotlight. Helen batted Nigel's hand from his collar as James brushed some tiny balls of fluff from Nikola's shoulder, earning James a confused glare from the fledgling physicist. "If you could all sit down again," a staff member told them, smiling genially at them before bustling off with her clipboard.

"Last round," James murmured as they took their seats.

"Final round, I'll think you'll find," Nigel replied, grinning. "Where the hell did you find this?" he asked, plucking at his shirt. Emblazoned on his chest were the words, "My good shirt's in the wash!"

"We swapped Nikola's shoes for it," James explained. Nikola wriggled his toes and wiggled his eyebrows as James added, "Lampeter's captain thought they were a fair price for her t-shirt."

If cartoons were real, Nigel's eyes would be heart shaped. "Oh Nik mate, I owe you one."

Nikola looked him up and down, before smirking and taking his chair. "You owe me a pair, Limey."

Nigel rolled his eyes, sitting down himself. "Git."

"Gentlemen," Helen interrupted, taking her place in the middle, "as scintillating as this conversation is devolving to, could we have some quiet for a moment?" The men looked at her. "We're in the bloody final!" she squealed.

"Couldn't do it without you, love," Nigel laughed, "or you, Jim."

"Hey, what about your favourite Serbian-American over here?" Nikola asked, pretending to be hurt.

"Too far away, can't hear you!"

They were all smiling for a still photo with Jeremy when Helen saw him. Tapping Nikola's elbow as the photographer and the presenter walked away, she whispered, "Top left corner."

Nikola looked into the audience.

"Your other left," Helen muttered, smiling nevertheless.

"Oh."

They all looked up into the audience. "What the bloody hell is he doing here?" Nigel asked, leaning over.

"He hasn't come down to the stage," said James, watching John watching them. "And he's been there a while, I imagine. Look at how comfortable he is."

"D'you think he's come to watch us fail?" Nigel asked.

Helen shook her head whilst James answered, "I think he's just watching, old chap."

It took a moment, then Nigel said, "Hey, less of the old… Bloody wanker."

Nikola was uncharacteristically quiet throughout the whole exchange, although he kept his fingertips on Helen's forearm the entire time, looking as if to be her shield should John come down. "I don't know, he looks…" Nikola twirled his hand as his mind searched for the word, shrugging as he finally said, "sad."

All four looked over again. John gave a half hearted wave, crossed one leg over the other, then curled up on himself, making his lumbering size small and almost inconsequential. His eyes, however bright and alert they usually were, had lost their winning spark - something the whole team could see even from their spot in the studio. He was defeated, and watching the victor take her spoils.

Glancing one last time out at the audience, Helen steadied her breathing, thanked the runner for the fresh glass of water, and squeezed Nikola's hand on the desk. When he finally looked at her, she blinded him with her biggest smile. "Good luck, Nik."

"With you next to me, I don't need it," he replied, winking.

\--

At the gong it was 210 points apiece. Another tie break. Nikola watched as Helen inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, her eyes glued to Paxman. She'd missed some questions earlier, berating herself audibly when she said paronychia was inflammation around the navel rather than the soft tissue around a nail, so Nikola could only surmise that she needed to answer this question, not just to win the match but to forgive herself for her mistakes. Her hand over the buzzer, they listened to the question.

"Which village near Vienna is the site of the hunting lodge where the Habsburg crown prince Rudolf and his paramour Mary Vetsera commited suicide in mysterious circumstances in 1889?"

Nikola's mind spun, trying to dredge up a name that sounded Austrian, or even vaguely European. It hurt to admit to himself that he didn't know the answer. Looking at Helen next to him, and Tremlett in the captain's chair for Gonville and Caius, he realised both might have an idea but neither wanted to lose the competition on a possibility.

Paxman's shrewd eyes glanced between the two captains; Nikola assumed he'd come to the same conclusion. "No-one? I--"

"Magdalen College, Magnus."

"Mayerling."

There was a beat.

Then another.

And another.

Nikola almost yelled for him to reply when Paxman smiled.

\--

In the bar, four team mates on five stools sat around a low table, covered in plates and bottles and glasses, conversation having meandered to a quiet moment of introspection. Helen looked to her right.

"Are you sure you're allowed to bring that here?" James asked, noticing her movement.

Helen grinned, reaching for the trophy as Nigel said, "Jim mate, I think she'll be sleeping with that under her pillow tonight!"

The conversation faded into the background as Helen ran her fingers over the metal. Shaped like an open book, engravings of columns and a diagram of the solar system covered the left half, overlayed to fill the space. On the right was the show's title and the past winners, the names Magdalen and University of Manchester appearing more than twice each. That didn't matter to her. They'd done it. They'd won, earning a fifth win for the college, and fulfilling one of Helen's childhood dreams.

"It won't disappear if you look away," Nikola murmured in her ear, leaning across her so his fingers brushed the diagram of the solar system. His fingertips moved reverentially across the metal.

"Very funny," she replied without looking at him. "I know it won't, and I know we have the old trophy in the college, but…" She finally looked at him, glad to see mirth in his features, and smiled back. " _We_ did this." Her voice, whilst small, was clear and strong as she looked deep into his eyes. The spark in Nikola's eye intrigued her, drawing her near.

"A toast!" Nigel proclaimed, breaking the moment. Arching her brow but grinning still, Helen grabbed her glass along with the others. "To us, may we never hear about inflamed nail beds ever again."

"Hear hear!" James agreed.

Before having a hefty swig of his pint, Nigel added, "And next time we take on _Only Connect_!"


End file.
